Page 51 of Palm South University: Season 3
Did he just say have me home? As in, he would be taking me somewhere?
I just stare at him, finally blinking after what I’m sure is a full minute.
He cocks an eyebrow. “The auto racing date? I do believe I was the highest bidder.”
I’m still staring. What am I even supposed to say? I want to ask him why he did it, why he hasn’t mentioned it until now, and more than anything, I want to know how it’s even remotely appropriate for him to spend a Saturday with an intern.
Because I know it’s not.
And maybe I should say no. Maybe I should politely decline, thank him for his donation and hand him his tickets to the auto racing place, insisting he ask someone else to accompany him.
But I don’t do any of that.
“Okay.”
His other eyebrow shoots up to join the first before a grin breaks on his stunning face. “Okay, then. May I pick you up?”
I just nod, the room suddenly too hot, and I stand to end our meeting. But when I do, the pencil I’d tucked into my notebook spills onto the floor. We both bend down at the same time to retrieve it, our noses just inches apart as our fingers brush.
We both pause, his hand on the pencil and mine still over his. When he looks up at me, I meet his gaze, holding it there with unanswered questions until his eyes flick to my lips and back again.
Clearing his throat, he hands me the pencil and stands, helping me up. “Tomorrow at noon. Kappa Kappa Beta house, correct?”
Something between anuh-huhand a squeak leaves my lips and I dash out the door, trying to calm my walk as I make my way through the office with multiple pairs of eyes watching the entire way. I can’t catch my breath, my heart threatening to sprint right out of my chest and across the office. I just agreed to a date with my CEO. Tomorrow.
In what world is that ever a good idea?
Just as promised, Mr. Church pulls up at twelve on the dot in his Acura NSX. I’m thankful for the mid-seventies, not-a-cloud-in-the-sky weather, because all of my sisters are at the beach getting their tans ready for Halloween. If they were home, they’d all be lined up at the windows as soon as they heard that engine purr.
I’m still questioning my decision the entire walk down the sidewalk to his car, one thumb hooked into the strap of my purse to keep me from playing with my hair. I spent the entire morning figuring out what to wear, curling my hair to perfection, and applying my makeup to look natural but flawless. I tried on more outfits than I care to admit before I landed on my favorite black body suit, slim cut with thin spaghetti straps and a deep v-neck. Paired with a bleach-washed pair of ripped-up shorts and my white Keds, I feel sexy without being obvious. I topped it off with a thin, gold headband and reflective aviator glasses, which I’m thankful for when Mr. Church steps out of the car.
He rounds the car, opening my door and waiting with one hand still on the handle as I take in his casual attire. I’m so used to seeing him in a full-on suit ensemble that I almost don’t believe it’s him in the fitted light jeans and simple white t-shirt, covered only by an unbuttoned red and blue flannel shirt cuffed at his forearms.
I stop when I reach him, swallowing past the sticky knot in my throat. “Hi.”
“Glad to see you were able to get out of your pajamas,” he teases, holding his hand for mine to help me inside the car. When I’m safely in, he shuts the door behind me, jogging around to his side.
I marvel at the white and black leather interior, the stitching wide and bold, the entire world muted inside his car that costs more than my entire tuition. I let my eyes wander the dashboard and middle console controls, anything to keep from noticing how ridiculously sexy he looks kicked back in the driver seat with one hand on the wheel and the other resting easy on his thigh as he turns to me.
“Ready?”
I laugh out a shaky breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be, Mr. Church.”
He shakes his head with a grin. “You can call me Brandon, if you’d like,” he adds quickly.
“Brandon,” I say, trying it out with a nod. But then I crack out a laugh. “Feels kind of weird.”
A shadow passes over his dark eyes. “I’m sure the more you say it, the more comfortable it will feel.”
And there it is again. The look. The piercing gaze that strips me of any reply other than an open mouth as he throws the car in drive.
I keep my hand tucked under my thighs the entire drive to the auto racing venue, mostly looking out the window as we breeze through town. Wale’sAmbitionalbum beats through the speakers, Mr. Church — er,Brandon— rapping along, thumbing to the beat of the bass on his steering wheel.
Every now and then, he casts a glance in my direction, but neither of us makes conversation. When we pull into the parking lot, he doesn’t find a spot, but drives through the back alley and up to a locked gate instead.
I frown, scanning the empty race track inside. “Are they open today?”
“Sort of,” Brandon answers, nodding to a young man inside the gate as he removes the locks and motions for Brandon to drive forward.